Snowflakes Adrift
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: The Doctor's search for his missing memories isn't going very well.


"When something goes missing, _you can_ always _recreate_ it by the _hole_ it _left_ ," the Doctor whispers.

He's talking to the branch of a tree; to the space in which a pine cone had once sat, nestled amongst its needles. The glow of his Sonic runs over that tiny patch of unblemished green, just beginning to see the first dots of snowflakes drifting down and sticking. He frowns and lowers his arm, the buzz ending as the light subsides, as he looks to the brown cone that's settled itself into the snow near his shoes.

Bending, he plucks the cone up into his palm, tossing it delicately into the air before catching it to raise up slightly with a curious look as he states quietly, "To be, or not to be? _That_ is the question." He releases a breath before repeating softly, "That _is_ the question."

He scans the pine cone and then tells it, "I've followed along the path of spaces she's left, like a chessman on a board, seeking out that desired, yet elusive Queen, and I'm beginning to think she's either running from me for some terrible reason I cannot remember, or she's no longer there at all, which is further terrible still."

The Doctor holds tight to the item in his hand, feeling the groves of it scratching his cold skin as he leans his head back to look to the black night above him. There are a set of moons climbing their way into the sky, illuminating the forest he's been walking through, but straight above is only stars and the seemingly never-ending expanse of universe. He knows the truth of it, knows there is an edge of sorts to it all, but he's travelled so far in search of his missing memories, he's beginning to think perhaps there's no edge at all.

Or perhaps she's fallen over it, drifting into the nothing that sits beyond.

Waiting for him.

 _Perhaps_.

The snow floats lazily down upon his face and he laughs, "Like falling stars, fading into specs of dust to coat everything in their path with hope and light and that shocking bite of inspiring cold. Why can't you simply point me in her direction? Lead me to the voice that escapes me; show me the face that evades my eyes. Or else why can't you fill these empty spaces in my hearts and rid me of the hanging melancholy that haunts me in spite of the happiness this wondrous universe I travel should bring."

He shakes away the snow piling on his cheeks and forehead and he looks back to the pine cone he holds, turning it slightly in his palm, scanning it for no real reason other than to hear the noise of the Sonic break the deadly silence of this planet. It's barren, save for the trees and small animals who scurry about during the day, and the wind offers a constant low howl that penetrates the mind and unnerves even the most focused soul.

The Doctor sighs and looks to the empty space that pine cone had left, now evenly covered with snow to match the rest of the branch. He huffs a breath and feels its warmth drift over his skin before it flutters away and something about the thought that trickles in – _how much like smoke it was_ – sends gooseflesh over his body.

"I chase those holes she's left in the universe to recreate her, and everywhere I go there are tales of bravery and cleverness and laughter and... _kindness_. And I listen with rapt attention, hoping to retain the details, to fill in some void, and the inevitable happens," he gestured to the snow sitting calmly atop the branch, "The memories that filter in are covered over again, some grand conspiracy of the universe to keep me from the answers I want."

"What does her voice sound like when it's not simply words running across my mind reminding me to stay true to my name?" He asked the pine cone. "What is her laughter and what makes her laugh? What is the tone of her skin and the texture of her hair? What color are her eyes when they're struck by the light of a sun?" Bowing his head, he flicked the cone out of his hand, watching it hit the snow with a soft crunch. "Why do I feel cold where her arms might wrap around me and why can no other seem to warm those spaces?"

The Doctor taps his head with his Sonic and he lets out a small chuckle, one that ripples out into the darkened silence around him. He begins a slow walk down an almost path towards his Tardis, footsteps crunching softly as he goes, and he laments, "And why does it matter so much that I seek out the ghost of her wherever I go, as though she were some piece of a puzzle that might solve the most important question in the universe."

He can see the blue of his box, between the frosty branches of pine trees, and he smiles, calling, "You always take me where I _need_ to be, not where I _want_ to be; you told me that once. And yet here we stand, clearly in a disagreement over what I _need_. Here, alone in this abysmal place a song heard on a distant planet has brought us." He laughs, "A song of a mysterious traveller and her companion, who saved the saplings of a dying world with an idea. The trees sing her song into the wind and it carries across the universe for anyone willing to listen."

Turning a half circle to look back at the forest, the Doctor explains, "She was here once, but not now. You've brought me where I need to be, of course, just at the wrong time." He laughs, "That's the curse of our tale, isn't it, hers and mine – ships who pass in time and space and never quite meet because outside forces forbid it."

He walks towards the Tardis, listening to her Cloister bell sound thrice before he touches his fingers to the wood of her right door, letting them trail slightly as he whispers, "Time can do many things. Heal these wounds, or fill this heart, perhaps. Or possibly empty my head of her entirely eventually."

Bowing his head as he grips the handle tightly, he laughs, "Of course, what sort of man would I be without the remnants of her influence in my life; those tiny flecks of inspiration and light I can't quite find the source for that make my hearts swell when they hit." He shrugs and looks back out to the trees one last time. "The wounded soul, the battered heart, the scrambled memories all make for a good man, I suppose. The legacy of a face I can't quite detail and a voice I can't quite retain and a woman I can't quite recover."

The Doctor lifts his head at the sound of a pine cone crunching into the snow beneath its branch and he smiles at it, listening to the moan of the ever-present wind before looking once more to the skies and those two moons that chased one another around the planet daily. One day, perhaps, they would crash and just before their demise, their meeting would be a glorious specter for all to see.

Or perhaps they were simply doomed to the chase.

 _Perhaps_.


End file.
